Little Boy Lost
by Hattie J Huper
Summary: Napoleon rescues Illya from a Thrush Facility known for carrying out vile unethical experiments. At first it seems as though he has come out of his ordeal unharmed but it soon becomes apparent there is something very wrong with Illya.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Napoleon's heart sank. To uncle agents there was no place more vile than this house of horrors. The underground bunker below this expansive Thrush villa, where they performed their most secret experiments.

Uncle agents dreaded this place above any other torture facility. Random experiments were carried out on captives, reckless invasive procedures performed with no thought for the life of the poor individual. Uncle agents rescued from this place were never the same again. Limbs amputated, brain damage was common, one poor soul had his tongue surgically removed.

As he walked along the clinically spotless corridor Napoleon prayed that the tip off he had received had been correct. Last cell on the left the drunken Thrush agent had told him. Napoleon gave him enough money to pay at least some of his gambling debts and enough for another beer. The Thrush agent nodded his thanks knowing that his days were now numbered.

Napoleon peered in through the tiny squared window half expecting a trap.

Instead, he noted the ruffled blond head on the cot. The face was turned away from him and Napoleon had the sudden worry that they may have disfigured his friend in some way.

"Illya, Illya," he whispered.

His partner didn't move, which worried him even more.

Without further efforts to rouse him Napoleon went to work on the door. Seconds later, in a blaze of light it shot open. Napoleon shook his head, this was all a little too easy.

He instantly went to the cot and gently shook his friend. Illya shot up and turned abruptly to face him.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," Napoleon grinned, heartily relieved to see that Illya was still in one piece.

Illya let out a ragged breath and put a hand up to rub strain out of his eyes.

"I thought you were one of them," he said.

"Are you ok, did they hurt you?" Napoleon asked.

"No, I don't think they had started yet. I don't actually know. I can't remember much," Illya winced, trying to remember the details of his captivity but just now he couldn't even recall when it began.

"They must have kept you asleep, you don't look like you've been subjected to anything yet, Come on."

"I hope you have a plan to get us out of here?" Illya asked.

"Don't be silly," Napoleon answered as he led his friend to the end of the corridor.

"We go back the way I came and hope they are just as clueless the second time round."

It was not to be. They were met at the top of the stairs by a small group of Thrush agents. A scrappy fight ensued, Napoleon kicked the gun out of the hand of one agent and head butted the other one sending him sprawling out in front of two approaching security guards. The Uncle agents then made a run for it as more Thrush henchmen appeared on the scene, Napoleon pulling Illya along by his jacket.

Somehow they managed to make it out of the compound running blindly across an expansive grass verge towards the large iron gates. It was dark and a massive flood light came on as they crossed the green. Agent Grimes heard the sirens and smashed his truck through the gates just in time. Despite everything that could have gone wrong they had made it. They jumped into the back of the van and it took off speeding down the country lanes towards the motorway.

~o~

They were due to fly back to New York in four days time, that was literally the earliest flight they could get. Grimes was needed for a solo mission in England, he left early the following morning to catch the first sailing.

Napoleon was ordered to lie low, with that in mind he took rooms for them in a bed and breakfast near the beach. There were loads of little guest houses in this area so he hoped they could blend in with the holiday makers.

"Are yis on your own?" the middle aged landlady asked as she dropped the breakfast tray down on the little wooden table.

"Eh, yes. We're here on business," Napoleon told her.

"Ah that's terrible. Two lads on your own. I'm sure your girls are missing ye. Are you married Mr Solo." She asked.

She waited, looking up at him, her arms folded in front of her ample chest.

"No I'm not married." He smiled patiently.

"Well you'd want ta hurry up. Those good looks won't last forever ye know. And there's nothing worse than an owl fella livin alone. People talk."

As she spoke she toured the small living room picking up newspapers and straightening his jacket on the back of the chair.

"I'm telling ye, she'll get bored waiting for ye if you don't hurry up and ask her. There's plenty of others that will."

Just then Illya appeared at the bedroom door.

"There's bacon there," she pointed. "You look like you could use a meal or two or three."

"Thank you," Illya mumbled.

He trudged out of the bedroom in bare feet wearing black faded pants, vest and his white shirt he hadn't managed to button up yet. Napoleon looked at him with a frown.

"Well I'll be off now, I haven't all day to be talking,"

She shuffled out then leaving them alone. Napoleon still continued to stare.

"What are you looking at," Illya asked around a mouthful of bacon.

Napoleon sat down beside him.

"Nothing, it's just, I didn't notice yesterday you have lost weight Illya. Did they feed you anything?"

"I can't remember,"

"Do you remember anything?" Napoleon asked.

"No, it's strange. I've had many run ins with Thrush and a lot of things have happened I care not to remember but I don't remember anything Napoleon. I don't like it. I feel like I've been compromised."

"Don't worry about it Illya, even if you were it's hardly your fault. But when we get back to New York you'll need to go straight to the infirmary. You're practically skin and bone. To be honest, I don't much like your gaunt appearance, you need to get checked out."

"You don't look so great yourself," Illya answered, his cheeks flushing slightly in temper.

Napoleon put his coffee cup down.

"Illya, I'm just saying that you need to get checked out that's all. You don't know what they did to you. Now I think you're probably fine. You perhaps missed a meal or two but I know the brass in Uncle will want you to have a full physical."

Illya nodded but his eyes were cast down and his cheeks were still flushed showing that he was perhaps still affronted by Napoleons comments.

"Look, you're tired. Why don't you go back to bed for a couple of hours. Get some decent sleep,"

Looking slightly embarrassed Illya got up and headed towards the bedroom.

"I'll bring you in some lunch later," Napoleon told him.

"Napoleon...sorry," Illya blurted out.

"That's alright, that's what I'm here for, to be abused." Napoleon smiled.

Illya grinned despite himself.

"I'll see you in a while,"

"Sleep well Tovorich,"

Once the door closed Napoleon's smile faded. He couldn't put his finger on it but there was something wrong. Illya didn't look right, how could he have lost so much weight in the space of five days captivity. He almost looked like a different person.

Napoleon left him to sleep as he went down the little cobbled street to find a newspaper. It was asking a little too much that they'd have the New York Times, he settled for the Irish Press and a map of the area. Since they'd be here for the next four day perhaps they could do some sight seeing. Though Napoleon knew instinctively that when Illya was any way better they'd most likely end up in one of those little pubs drinking Guinness and eating fresh oysters out of their shells.

He arrived back with freshly cooked fish and chips wrapped in newspaper for them both.

"Come on skinny or I'll eat it all myself," he yelled as he dumped the food down on the little table.

The door opened behind him as Napoleon went to fetch the salt and vinegar.

He turned around with a smile but froze in horror as he gazed upon his friend.

"Can I get up now?" Illya asked.

Napoleon could only nod in answer.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 **A/N I wish to begin this chapter with an apology to Crystal Rose. In both our stories Uncle agents fall foul of Thrush experiments. Honestly Crystal I did not copy your concept but you can be forgiven for thinking I did. The ideas are too similar. I can't delete my story because I'm enjoying it too much but let it be known that Crystal Roses story came first. Sorry Hun, no offence intended.**

 **~o~**

Illya looked back at him, his boyish face looking rather uncertain.

"Is it ok if I have some water?" He asked.

"Of course," Napoleon's voice came out hoarse. He cleared his throat before continuing.

"Sit down Illya, I'll bring you some,"

Illya sat and rolled up the sleeves of his oversized white shirt.

Napoleon put the water down in front of him.

"Thank you sir," Illya muttered as he took the glass in both hands and began to drink.

That reply drained the colour from Napoleon's face.

Illya's fringe hung low over his eyes. It flecked slightly as he looked up in concern.

"Are you angry with me?" He asked.

"No Illya, I'm not mad at you, do you still know who I am," he asked.

"Of course. You're Mr Solo," Illya answered.

"Could I have a chip please,"

Napoleon pushed the bag over, his own appetite completely gone.

He had to ask the dreaded question.

"Illya, how old are you?"

"I'm 22," Illya answered as he blew on a chip and stuck it in his mouth.

In the short time he had been sleeping his hair had grown longer and pimples were now starting to form on his chin.

"Illya, you're 31," Napoleon told him.

In response the young Russian just laughed foolishly and reached out to take a piece of fish.

Napoleon caught his hand.

"Illya, you're 31. You're 31 years old, don't you remember. What's going on. What did they do to you at that compound, think."

He had meant to get to the bottom of it but all he had managed to do was intimidate the young man. Illya looked back at him with big eyes, trying to swallow down the chip he had just eaten.

"I'm sorry Illya, I'm sorry. If you say you're 22 then you are. You aught to know. I just need to think a minute,"

Napoleon got up from the table and began to pace. Illya sat rigid at the table just watching him.

"I... I need to go to the bathroom," Illya muttered.

"It's last door down the hall," Napoleon told him.

~o~

The young man got up and shuffled towards the door. His clothes no longer fitted him properly giving him rather the look of Charlie Chaplin. It would have been funny if it wasn't so serious.

Napoleon was alone then and struggled to think what best to do. He'd need to call it in but what would he tell Waverly. How would he explain this. Suddenly he scrambled for the door and thundered down the stairs. He flung open the front door and gave chase as the young man tore off down the street. Damn Illya was fast. Napoleon could hear a distinct wheeze in his own chest as he gave chase following the boy through an open park and out the other side. Thankfully Illya had found a lane with a metal grill at its end. He was trying to scale this grill when Napoleon caught hold and brought him down by his legs.

"That wasn't very smart," he said through heaving breaths. "You need to trust me Illya, I'm on your side in all of this. We go back a long way you and I,"

"I don't remember that, I've heard your name before but as for us being friends. I don't remember any of that. I don't remember you."

"Illya come back to the apartment," Napoleon took a step forward. "We'll talk it all out."

"No, what do you want?. If you touch me I'll go to the police." Illya backed up against the grill.

"Illya I'm not going to touch you, I'm your friend. I want you to come back so we can talk about it,"

It was lame, Napoleon was tired and couldn't negotiate. He didn't know how he was going to get his Russian partner to cooperate. If he used force he might hurt him and he'd lose his trust forever but just then he couldn't form any good reasons why Illya should follow him.

Illya suddenly looked very desperate. "What's happening," he whispered to himself.

"I don't know who I am any more. How did I even get here. I want to go home?"

His bottom lip began to tremble and he put a hand up to his face as tears began to pool in his eyes.

Napoleon brought the young man towards him.

"It's alright," he said as Illya buried his head in Napoleon's shoulder and began to sob.

"It's alright, let it out Illya."

"I'm sorry," Illya whispered into his shoulder.

Napoleon ran a hand up and down his slender back trying to offer as much comfort as he could.

~o~

Thankfully Illya came back with him willingly. They ate the now just warm chips and Napoleon told him all that he knew, how Illya had disappeared just over a week ago and they managed to find him with the help of a rogue Thrush agent desperate for money. But Napoleon also explained how the compound he found him in was notorious for strange experiments.

Illya's young face took all of this in with limited understanding. He didn't know what to believe in this strange tale but he needed to stay with someone and Mr Solo thus far hadn't treated him roughly so he judged it best to stay with him.

Napoleon went to sleep that night happy in the knowledge that they had at least come to an understanding. It was important above anything that Illya trusted him. At least now he could protect him for he felt sure that Thrush would be looking for their prized Guinea pig. The sooner they returned to New York the better.

Their long talk and subsequent understanding ensured Napoleon a good nights sleep that night. But the next morning as his eyes opened he suddenly felt that something was very wrong . He turned swiftly and sure enough the other bed was empty.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Thanks DJ. You've come to my rescue yet again (-:

~o~

Had Thrush come and taken him in the night. Surely he would have heard something. Napoleon was frantic. He had slept late, it was already past nine in the morning. The first scattered group of sun bathers were setting up camp on the cobble stone beach as Napoleon hurried past them. The ornate little wooden towers dotted along the beach were starting to open up, their owners putting out beach balls and rubber rings ready to sell.

Napoleon had been ordered to lay low but he would have to reestablish communication now. The situation had become critical. He turned to one shop owner as he hung up a floating device outside his store.

"Where exactly is this place?" He asked the man.

"This is Bray seafront in county Wicklow." The man told him. "Do ye want ta get to Dublin is it?"

"No, no thank you," Napoleon went down on to the beach and turned towards some rocks looking for a secluded place to ring headquarters. He was about to speak into the device when he caught sight of a blond head and a familiar pair of baggy black trousers.

Napoleon didn't care that he was intruding on his friends romantic encounter. He walked straight up to the kissing couple. The girl squealed and pulled away as the smartly dressed man approached.

Illya turned, wiped his face and straightened up. Napoleon hardly recognised him. He was so much younger looking. The agent judged him to be about 17 or 18 now. Something would have to be done soon. He was losing years at a rate of knots.

"Please mister, don't tell me da. I was just kissing him. It was his fault actually, he took advantage of me."

"I did not take advantage of you, you led me down here," Illya argued.

"Yeah you did ye big eggit and you can't kiss for shite."

An argument immediately erupted between the two youngsters.

"Be quiet," Napoleon roared.

Both were immediately silent, looking like they wanted the ground to open up and swallow them.

"Illya you need to..." Napoleon stopped as he got a sudden smell he instantly recognised and sniffed the air between them.

Illya moved slightly back away from him.

"Have you been smoking?" Napoleon asked.

Illya shook his head vigorously. "No, no I haven't."

Napoleon took hold of the hand Illya had been hiding behind his back and brought it forward. He looked down at the pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes and back at Illya.

"They're hers," Illya told him.

"They're not mine, oh God I'm dead!" The young girl cried.

"You will be dead if you don't march yourself up that beach right now young lady and off to school. I'll be confiscating these," Napoleon pocketed the cigarettes.

She didn't need to be told twice. She took off scampering up the beach her sandals slipping on the stones as she went.

Illya scowled as he watched her go.

"That was really embarrassing." He said. "You said last night we were friends and then you totally embarrass me in front of a girl."

"You said you'd stay in the apartment," Napoleon told him. "We had an agreement based on trust hadn't we."

"Yeah until you embarrassed me."

"Come on Illya, it's time for breakfast." Napoleon told him.

"No, I'm staying here. You embarrassed me in front of everyone. Why should I, you're not my father," Illya shrugged picking at a spot on his face.

All the strain of the last few days suddenly caught up on him and Napoleon lost his temper.

"Illya Kurakin, get up that beach right now or so help me I'll take my belt off here and now and leather you with it. Now move." He roared.

That got an immediate response. Illya took off up the beach so fast Napoleon struggled to keep up.

Once back In the little room Illya was sheepish. He stood behind a chair eying Napoleon warily.

"I won't do it again...I'm sorry. You're not going to take your belt to me are you," he mumbled.

"Well...I might, I might just do that if you don't...set the table for breakfast."

The young man instantly went to the drawers and brought out knives forks and spoons to lay the table with.

"This is ridiculous," Napoleon muttered as he watched the blond head bent in his work.

"Open Chanel D, overseas relay."

Napoleon went towards the bedroom but before entering he turned to his partner.

"Keep working, I'll expect the table set and the kettle boiled for coffee when I come out."

"Yes sir," Illya nodded compliance as he hurried to the stove.

Napoleon went into the small bedroom and told Mr Waverly all that had happened.

"You should have contacted me sooner Mr Solo, I've been waiting for your call."

"Apologies sir. There was never a good time. Mr Kurakin, in his altered state is proving a little bit of a handful."

"You will need an escort Mr Solo. I suggest we get Mr Kuryakin to our clinic in England. We've come up against so called rejuvenation processes before. I believe they hold all the intelligence on that at our base in London. I'll give them a call. In the meantime try and keep young Mr Kuryakin under control. Put him standing in a corner if he doesn't behave. That usually works with my grandchildren."

"He's a little old yet to be put standing in a corner, I may try that tomorrow."

"We'll get help to you before then Mr Solo."

"That would be appreciated sir," Napoleon nodded. "I calculate that he's losing about four years a day. At this rate he'll be dead by this time next week."

"Try to stay positive Mr Solo. We haven't lost a man to Thrush's hair brained experiments yet. Mr Kurakin will be back to himself in no time. Now what is your exact location..."

Napoleon emerged soon after. Illya was buttering bread at the table.

"Were you talking to my father?" He asked anxiously.

"Yes and he's not a bit impressed with you."

Napoleon meant to use that to his advantage much like the threat of the belt but young Illya bit his lip and looked so worried it reminded Napoleon of his own childhood.

He went and put a hand to the boys shoulder.

"No Illya, that was Mr Waverly our boss. I was just filling him in on all that had happened,"

Illya still looked worried.

"What is it?" Napoleon asked.

"Did...did you tell him about the cigarettes?" Illya asked fearfully. "Was he angry?"

"No, Illya I didn't tell him about the cigarettes. We'll keep that between ourselves."

Illya smiled for the first time in too long. Napoleon was glad to see it and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

"Now come on, finish with that bread. I've ordered a full breakfast to be brought up to us," he smiled.

"Yes sir,"

Napoleon lost his smile as he noted Illya's voice was starting to get slightly more childlike.

~o~

Illya had the appetite of a horse. A large fried breakfast, two slices of bread and now he was picking at the leftovers on Napoleon's plate.

"You like your food Illya," he grinned.

Illya just nodded as he mopped up grease with the last of his bread.

"Where did you find your little girlfriend?" Napoleon asked, he couldn't resist.

Illya froze in his actions."what girlfriend?"

"That cute little Irish thing you were kissing on the beech."

"She wasn't my girlfriend. I just met her."

"Didn't look like that from where I was standing. You were quite enthusiastic with her," Napoleon grinned.

"Do you have a girlfriend Mr Solo?"

"Yes,"

"Are you enthusiastic with Her?"

It was Napoleon's turn to be stumped.

Now half his age and Illya was still winning arguments.

"How far do you usually go with a girl you're not married to Mr Solo."

"Drink your milk Illya,"

"But we were..."

"Illya...what do you want to be when you grow up," Napoleon attempted to change the subject.

The boy thought for a moment.

"Do you want to be an agent like me. Work for a secret organisation righting the wrongs perpetrated on the world by evil men?" Napoleon asked with a smile.

Illya scowled. "No that's boring, I want to work at crime scenes examining dead bodies looking for evidence on who murdered them."

"Lovely," Napoleon frowned as he took a sip of his coffee.

~o~

He couldn't keep him cooped up in a two roomed apartment all day. That would alert suspicion among the other guests. Help was due to arrive in the night hours and they would be leaving by boat the following morning.

In the meantime Napoleon took him shopping which turned out to be the equivalent of having teeth pulled without anaesthetic. What was the big deal with what shirt he wears. Nobody knew him in this country and yet Illya literally scowled at every shirt Napoleon held up. Napoleon suggested he wear short pants as it was blazing hot outside, Illya looked at him as if he expected him to walk around naked. In the end he emerged from a second hand clothing store wearing a green army issue shirt and sunglasses. Illya grinned from ear to ear at his new apparel, Napoleon thought he looked like a member of the Hitler youth. But at least he had finally shed those baggy pants and oversized white shirt. Illya was now a skinny youth of about sixteen. Napoleon didn't want to admit it but it looked as though the anti ageing process was speeding up.

~o~

The cinema was Napoleon's next plan. That would kill a few more hours and keep child from hell out of trouble. But no matter how much the boy pleaded he was not taking him to see a film called "the Girl with the Hungry eyes".

"What about the Graduate then," Illya argued.

"No, I've told you Illya. It's Double Trouble or The Jungle Book."

"Wonderful, a child's film or Elvis. Some choice," Illya folded his arms and scowled.

"Or I could take you back to the apartment and beat you senseless," Napoleon told him.

It was meant to be an idle threat but for some reason Illya found that hysterically funny and laughed loudly.

Napoleon smiled. "Come on, there's an amusement park over there. Perhaps I could throw you off the top of the Ferris wheel when no ones looking."

Illya was still laughing as they crossed the street.

Despite himself Illya enjoyed the roller coaster and the Ferris wheel, and he was actually impressed at Napoleon's shooting skills. He won a teddy bear at the duck shooting booth. But the boys good humour was short lived.

"Do you have to eat that cotton candy, you're so embarrassing." Illya scowled.

"It tastes good, here why don't you try some," Napoleon held it out to him.

With a quick look around to see if anyone would notice Illya pulled a shred off and popped it in his mouth.

"Now was that so hard,"

Illya shook his head.

"Mr Solo, can we have hotdogs for supper," Illya asked catching sight of a vender.

"What ever you want."

Just then Napoleon caught sight of a familiar face in the throngs of people. The lone Thrush agent looked very out of place in his dull brown suit. Napoleon took hold of Illya's arm.

"Hay!" The boy looked up at him.

"No time to explain Illya just follow me."

Napoleon backed up into the crowd and skirted around the Waltzers attraction. He spotted another suited character just watching them from behind the fortune tellers tent.

"Illya, we're going to head for home now, that's enough excitement for one day."

Napoleon was walking fast now, careful to remain within the crowds and with a firm hold on the young man's arm.

"Mr Solo, what's wrong?"

Once he felt he could outrun them Napoleon rounded a corner and used the cover of a large tent to conceal their departure. He then took hold of Illya and broke into a run. Thrush had anticipated him. The pair had just made it out of the park when five men closed in to cut off their escape. If they had weapons they were concealed but Napoleon began backing up as he was hopelessly outnumbered. This fair ground exit led to a back street which was all but deserted, the five closed in surrounding them.

"Who are these people?" Illya whispered, the colour draining from his face as he noted how big they were.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Who are these people?" Illya whispered, the colour draining from his face as he noted how big they were.

"When I give the signal, you run," Napoleon told him.

Illya looked up at him anxiously.

Napoleon eyed the biggest of the Thrush agents, planning his move.

"Right now, RUN!"

Napoleon pushed Illya aside and launched into an attack pulling the largest man down in to a headlock and punching his face. The others descended on him like dogs punching and kicking him viciously.

He hadn't a hope as more agents joined in. Still and all he put up a fight smacking one agent to the ground and kicking another in the gut making him double up. Illya was trying to help, giving it all he had, little realising that the Thrush agents were just toying with him.

Between fights Napoleon took hold of Illya's collar and pushed him off in the direction of freedom.

"Get out of here," he yelled

But Illya fought on until a Thrush agent pinned his arms behind him and he was slapped into submission.

Illya stood then breathing hard and trying not to cry as the Thrush agents started in on Napoleon. He was punched so hard he landed on his knees. He was instantly pulled back up to standing position and they smacked him again. He sniffed slightly as blood began to trickle from his nose.

"Where is he Mr Solo?"

"I don't know who you're talking about."

A back hand across his jaw brought stars to his eyes and made his head spin.

"If we have to ask you again we will concentrate on more painful areas Mr Solo. You know we are not beyond hitting below the belt. Now I will ask you once again. Where is Mr Kuryakin."

Illya looked quickly from one to the other.

"I don't know where he is, I thought you guys have him. Don't you talk amongst yourselves during coffee breaks." Napoleon was struck again. He shook his head slightly, trying to focus his vision.

Suddenly a child's voice cut through the tension.

"You're looking for me, I'm Illya Kuryakin," he cried.

"Be quiet," Napoleon yelled before he could stop himself.

"I'm Illya," he cried louder. "I'm Illya. Please don't...don't hurt him."

Napoleon laughed showing traces of blood on his teeth.

"That little bastard tried to pick my pocket. Got more than you bargained for didn't you, ye little maggot,"

The leader of the group looked from one to the other. He went to the boy and taking hold of his chin he lifted it to stare into his face.

"It's a trick," the other Thrush agent said.

The leader stared around at them wondering to himself. Could it be true. Had the process worked.

"I was with him when they were running experiments. Kuryakin had a mole on his left shoulder." One of the Thrush agents piped up.

Illya felt many hands take hold of him and his shirt was reifed up practically over his head.

He locked eyes with Napoleon as the Leader of the group ran a finger over the mole on his pale skin.

"It's real...does that look like the mole?" He asked the other man.

"Exactly like it. It's smaller but then so is he,"

"We'll bring them both. If he's lying we can always kill him later. If he's telling the truth we could be in for a hefty bonus."

He grinned as he tossed the boy in the direction of the other agents. One caught hold of him and spun him around to cuff his hands.

~o~

Ironically they found themselves right back in the same cell Illya had been rescued from just days ago. Napoleon sat on the small cot tentatively touching the bruises around his jaw, Illya stood at the sink hugging himself against the chill and the hostile environment.

The army shirt was now too long for him and was slightly tight around his middle

"Do you remember this place Illya?" Napoleon asked.

"I have this daydream of lying on a table, no shirt on. It was cold. There were straps."

"You were strapped down?"

The boy nodded.

Illya's big eyes looked all around him. He shivered slightly.

"Are you afraid Illya?" Napoleon asked, looking directly at him.

His dark eyes found Napoleon's then and he began to sniffle.

Napoleon put a hand out to him.

He pulled Illya down beside him and stroked his fine hair as the 12 year old began to sob.

"I don't want to die,"

"Shhh, that won't happen," Napoleon said. "Don't worry I'll think of something."

Most probably this Was their final hours. Though Thrush may decide to keep Illya alive a little while longer to run tests on him. Either way it wasn't looking good for either of them but Napoleon didn't see any benefit in sharing this with his much younger partner.

"Whatever happens Illya, we'll face it together." Napoleon told him instead.

After crying for some minutes Illya's head began to drift down onto Napoleon's lap and his eyes were starting to close. Napoleon took his jacket off and put it around the boy.

"Perhaps Mr Waverly will come," he mumbled sleepily.

"They don't know we're here Illya," Napoleon said as he continued to stroke his hair.

The boy nodded.

"We could call for backup. Mr Waverly might call us a sissy but at least we would be rescued."

"They took my communicator," Napoleon told him patiently.

"I know but they didn't take mine," Illya mumbled as he began to drift off.

Napoleon pulled him up so fast his hair stood up in spikes.

"You have your communicator?"

Illya fished it out of his back pocket.

"Yes, you gave it to me on the first night remember?"

Napoleon snatched it from him.

"Hay!" Illya frowned.

"Open Chanel...open Chanel..." Napoleon looked to his partner as he fiddled with the device.

"Have you been playing with this, all I can get is static," he asked.

Illya stood up and adjusted the controls on it.

"Don't break it just because they took yours. I'll want it back after."

Napoleon finally got through. He told Mr Waverly his exact location. Having gone there initially to rescue Illya he was able to give a clear and accurate account of their whereabouts. Mr Waverly promised backup as soon as possible. It couldn't come soon enough. No sooner was he off the phone than footsteps could be heard in the hall outside. Napoleon spun Illya around and stuck the communicator in his back pocket. Thus far they hadn't searched the child. Napoleon was hoping that his luck would hold in that regard. Napoleon then brought Illya around to face him.

"Now you do exactly what I say Illya," he told him firmly. "If I say run you run and don't look back."

Illya nodded and looked up with a start as the door was unlocked. Four men marched in. They took a rough hold of Napoleon and shoved him out into the corridor. Illya scurried out after him anxious that they not be parted. Napoleon took hold of Illya's hand as they walked down the long corridor towards the stairs.

~o~

They were led up to a landing near the top of the house, less clinical looking, more like a suite of offices. A wood panel door was opened to them and they were shown into a plush sitting room. Thrush agents surrounded them as they entered. An elegant looking woman in a dark suit rose from the couch where she was having tea. Her dining partner also rose from his seat.

"Oh Manfred, look at him." she whispered.

"Truly incredible," he said without feeling.

Illya knew they were both looking at him and backed a little behind Napoleon.

She put out a hand to him.

"Illya dear, come and join us." she smiled.

Illya looked up at Napoleon.

"He can see you just fine from here," Napoleon told her.

Napoleon found himself instantly surrounded on all sides and his arms were pinned behind him. A large Thrush agent got between them and pushed the boy in the direction of the woman. She sat back down and taking his hand, she pulled the boy towards her.

"But you said he was a teenager," she smiled. "He looks no more than 12."

"He looked to be about 16 when he first arrived ma'am." one of the henchmen told her.

She positively squeaked with glee at this news.

"Oh Manfred, what would my father say, we did it. We have succeeded in recreating the rejuvenation process. He worked all his life to achieve this. He worked his whole life for this one moment Manfred. Oh if he was here today what would he say."

Manfred scowled darkly. He took hold of the boys sleeve and pulled him roughly towards him. Napoleon bristled but could do nothing to help his young friend.

"If you hurt him, there won't be a rock on this planet you can hide under." he told them.

"We have no intention of hurting him," she graced Napoleon with a simpering smile.

"He's very important to us."

"It's a trick," Manfred snarled. "Look."

He held back Illya's blond tresses to display the soft perfect skin on his neck.

"I cut him, just here. He should have a scar. It would have needed to be stitched up. This is not Illya Kurakin."

"You cut my test subject," she turned to him.

"It was over a year ago, he was infiltrating one of our labs. I interrogated him."

"Must you find fault with everything. it's a process of rejuvenation Manfred. Of course it will heal blemishes. He's perfect."

She took Illya by the hand and gave the child a hug. He stiffened in her embrace turning uncertain eyes towards Napoleon.

"You're very important to us Illya." She told him "There is not a piece of equipment in our lab more important than you."

She ran a pale painted fingernail down his cheek.

"You're name will be in all the top medical journals of the world. The man who gave his life in the advancement of rejuvenation medicine. You will be famous Illya."

"Whether he wants it or not," Napoleon commented.

She rose from her seat and went to him extending her hand.

"Gale Davenport, chief lab technician at Thrush central," she told him.

"And you are?"

"Napoleon Solo," he said without taking her hand.

"The boys partner at Uncle," Manfred Crow filled in the blanks.

"I see well we may yet have some use for you Mr Solo. Illya may find some of our more intense procedures a tad uncomfortable. He will be more willing to cooperate if there is an incentive. Bring them to the lab. We'll begin immediately."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The security detail marched them into a large well lit room. Napoleon gazed around at the state of the art medical devices and machinery. You wouldn't see it in the finest hospital. Machines for every medical need from X Ray's scanners to resuscitation equipment. You would be forgiven for thinking you were in a top of the range medical clinic if it weren't for the straps attached to the examination tables.

Gale took Illya by the hand and walked him over to where an elderly looking doctor was waiting. The man wore steel spectacles and a thin smile.

"We'll start with a few simple blood tests, I want him to have a thorough physical," she told the man as she handed him over.

Napoleon did nothing. He was still being closely guarded by a couple of Thrush agents but the others were more interested in Illya. As smitten as they were with their new test subject they seem to have forgotten him.

Illya was put sitting on a large examination chair. He looked to Napoleon with frightened eyes as his shirt was unbuttoned and the Doctor crouched with a stethoscope to listen to his heart. Napoleon locked eyes with him trying to convey some reassurance.

"It's amazing, no trauma to the body whatsoever." The Doctor muttered as he worked.

He put fingers to Illya's neck checking his glands.

"We'll need to do a full blood culture and take samples but on the face of it I'd say we have a healthy twelve year old boy here."

The needle and collection vials were now ready and placed on a table beside the chair.

Illya turned eyes on them and grimaced in fear.

"Now Mr Kuryakin. It's just a little needle. It's not going to hurt much," the Doctor said as he began rolling up his sleeve.

Illya was having none of it, immediately he began to struggle and kick. He sent the tray to the ground scattering the phials, some of them rolling under a nearby bed.

"Secure him," the Doctor ordered.

A large man from Thrush security pulled him off the chair. Illya kicked and wailed but he was no match for this large security agent. He sat down on the chair bringing the boy down on his lap. He secured the boy with a large arm around his torso and held the boys other arm out for the Doctor to work. Illya was beside himself.

Even as an adult he hated needles but as a child fear reigned down on him like a dark blanket dispelling every other rational thought. He kicked and screamed as the Doctor secured a tourniquet to bring up his veins.

"I think it best if we strap him down for the proceeding experiments." The Doctor told Miss Davenport. "He's not a fan of hospital life."

Illya whimpered and looked away as the needle pierced his skin.

"There, that wasn't so bad was it. Just a little prick." The Doctor grinned , enjoying his inappropriate joke.

Napoleon watched the scene play out with a look of anxiety and defeat on his face. Meanwhile his eye followed as the Thrush agents guarding him began to watch as well. As Illya kicked out at the tray of equipment they laughed, not noticing as Napoleon slipped something from the tag on the back of his jacket.

Illya wasn't finished. Once his blood was taken the large security guard proceeded to carry him to a table to strap him down. Illya kicked and trashed until he got him painfully between the legs. The Thrush agent cursed loudly and dropped the boy on the floor.

Napoleon moved fast throwing the gas pellet down in the middle of the floor. He covered his face as gas rose up and went in to grab Illya. Thrush agents surrounded him and tried to fight but he laid out one with a single punch and entered into a scrappy fight with the other. The Thrush agent was at a disadvantage as uncle agents were exposed to this gas in training and had built up some immunity to it. It wasn't long before the other agent was floored also. Napoleon expected to fight his way out but the Thrush agents were doubled up and coughing furiously. He ran and pulled Illya up from the floor dragging the boy to the exit.

"I can't let you leave,"

Gale Davenport came from behind a large machine. She was wearing a mask on her face and carried a portable oxygen cylinder.

"Sorry sweetheart, you'll have to go back to experimenting on rats."

Thankfully she didn't have a gun and Napoleon hadn't the time to be a gentleman. He put a hand to her shoulder and moved her off to one side so he could access the door. She suddenly moved in close and whispered in his ear.

"A parting gift then,"

Napoleon jumped letting out a small gasp as the sudden bolt of searing pain ripped through him. He staggered back. Still clutching Illya he wrenched out the knife buried deep in his side and held it out in front of him.

"Get back away from the door," he rasped, his hand shaking as he held the knife.

"You won't get far," she purred as she moved aside.

Breathing hard and trying not to pass out, he staggered down the hall bringing Illya with him. He came to the end of the hall and had to stop.

He dropped the knife to the floor and fell against the wall, he stood there for a minute trying to keep his legs under him.

Illya had somewhat recovered from the gas. He stood watching his friend anxiously.

"P..pick up the knife Illya," Napoleon ordered as his eyes began to close.

The boy instantly carried out the instruction.

Napoleon put a hand to his shoulder.

"Now follow this corridor to its end and you'll find a flight of stairs,"

"No, I'm not leaving without you,"

"Illya,"

"No sir, I'm not going without you."

"Illya fucking run, the game is up. Please Illya." Napoleon fell to his knees as he spoke.

"No, we leave together," Illya cried out.

Illya took hold of Napoleons arm and put it around his shoulder.

"Help is coming. You rang Mr Waverly remember, so we only have to stall it out for so long."

"You is one smart Russian kid," Napoleon slurred his words as he put his feet under him and got back up. Although they could hear the sound of many booted feet and shouting voices and sirens somehow they managed to make it outside.

Napoleon spotted a couple of parked cars and began to stumble in that direction.

"Can you drive?" Illya asked as Napoleon leaned heavily on him.

"Gonna have to."

Illya helped Napoleon into the drivers seat of one of the cars struggling to bring his legs in.

It took mere seconds for Napoleon to locate wires and get it started up.

"Should we not hide in the building, wait for Mr Waverly?"

Napoleon shook his head, "it was only a matter of time before they found us."

He sped off down the large driveway one hand on the wheel one hand clutching his side trying to stem the blood flow. They smashed through the gate at the end and immediately swerved into a nearby ditch. Illya fell to the floor with the impact.

"Put your seatbelt on," Napoleon barked as he tried desperately to reverse out of it.

The Thrush agents guarding the gate were running towards the car. They hammered on the windows. Illya screamed as gunshots rang out shattering the window behind and sending glass down on to the back seat.

"Hold on," Napoleon told him as he floored the accelerator into reverse.

This time the car responded speeding backwards. Thrush agents cursed loudly as they jumped out of the way.

"There's a town up ahead, we'll head for there. We'll be able to lay low. There's a town up ahead."

Napoleon slurred his words as he drove at speed through the empty country roads.

Illya watched anxiously as his head began to lilt to one side.

"Mr Solo!"

Napoleon pulled himself upright shaking the stars from his vision.

"Thank you Illya," he muttered as he straightened up and tried to concentrate.

Just after dawn residents starting out on their daily chores gathered to stare curiously at a car smashed up against a tree. Steam rose up from it's engine and it's driver door hung open. They gazed with wide eyes upon the knife on the drivers seat sitting in a small pool of blood.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

A sharp early morning frost clung to the air as the two fugitives trudged through the quiet streets.

Napoleon stumbled along dragging the boy with him. They kept to the lanes and back streets as Napoleon's bruised face and disheveled appearance was beginning to draw unwanted attention. It didn't help that he was leaning heavily on a frightened looking eight year old boy.

The people of this small Irish town meant well with their looks of concern but he couldn't risk being taken to hospital. What would happen to Illya?.

Illya's face had narrowed and a sprinkling of freckles adorned his nose. The green army shirt now hung nearly to his knees. The few times he spoke Napoleon struggled to understand as his pronunciation was no longer good.

But Napoleon could not ponder to worry about Illya's condition. Thrush agents had no fear of Irish householders, they were banging on doors looking for the fugitives.

The pair stood in a lane listening to one such exchange on a doorstep close by.

"We're with the police, now stand aside."

"What do ye want. We've nothing here. Ye can't just barge in."

"Stand aside woman or your son will suffer."

As they trudged along Napoleon found a fur hat left on a wall. He took it up and stuck it on Illya's head.

He noted that his partner was now holding up his trousers.

"Stay here."

Napoleon placed him against a wall and heading into a garden he took clothes from a washing line. He came back with a small shirt, a striped woollen jumper and short trousers.

"Put these on," he told him.

Illya shook his head.

Napoleon's temper was already frayed as his side wound was really starting to pain him. The pain was getting ever more intense as infection was beginning to take hold.

"Illya, I'm not going to argue with you, put the clothes on. You look too conspicuous in that shirt."

"No, someone will see."

"Do you want a spanking?" Napoleon growled.

The boy quickly pulled the shirt off over his head. The pants just fell to his skinny knees.

Napoleon was sorry. This situation was fraught enough without scaring him half to death. Napoleon vowed to take him out and buy him a beer and a steak dinner when this was over. He frowned to himself. Or maybe a milkshake and a hotdog.

"Now you look much better," Napoleon tried to smile. He took his discarded clothes and threw them into a bin.

"Come," Napoleon took Illya's hand and walked slowly through the back lanes. All around Illya could hear Thrush agents frantically searching, shouting orders, disturbing people, throwing their furniture about. He wondered why Napoleon was just walking. But as he looked up into the man's face he could see that a film of sweat had settled on his pale skin, his eyes were barely open.

Illya coaxed him to a large metal door. He leaned his tall friend against a wall and used all his weight to pull the door open. Then he took Napoleon's hand and guided him into the dark shed.

"Good idea Illya, we'll lay low in here for a while."

Once within the concealment of the shed Napoleon fell to his knees clutching his side with a grimace.

"We'll wait here Illya," he said as his eyes began to close.

Illya found a sack of tinder wood for a fire. He dragged it over and let Napoleon lean against it. Napoleon's head slumped forward as he went unconscious.

Illya sat crossed legged on the floor just watching him. Before long his eyes began to wander and he spotted something in a corner. He crawled over and smiled with glee at his lucky find. He took hold of the tattered stuffed bear and went back to sit by Napoleon.

He smiled down at the bear telling it all that had happened and how they came to be in his home. Illya prattled on with his narrative telling the bear everything but his face was suddenly serious. He put the bear down and reaching over he shook Napoleon.

"Mister, mister," he whispered quietly.

Napoleon didn't stir.

Biting his lip Illya thought for a moment. Then he got up and headed for the shed door. With one last look back at Napoleon he headed out and ran back down the lane.

Moments later the shed door opened once more and four men in suits walked quietly in. They stood over the unconscious man. One flicked a cigar butt which landed on his jacket. The other kicked his side. He jerked with the impact but didn't waken. They took hold of his jacket and began dragging him across the floor.

Illya soon found it, he took the heavy lid from the bin, leaving it to clank loudly on to the ground. He fished through the bin and found his old pants. Sure enough the communicator was still in them. He smiled to himself. He had found the talker, the man would be pleased with him.

As he looked up his smile slowly vanished. Illya shook from head to foot as he began backing away from the man in the suit.

The Thrush agent didn't immediately recognise him but the communicator had given him away.

"Come on, I'll buy you an ice cream." The man sneered as he approached.

Illya took off running. He was surprisingly fast and it took the man a good minute to catch hold of him. He scooped the child up and carried him under his arm as more agents entered the scene.

"We have to hurry, those UNCLE gits are in the area," the top Thrush agent said.

Illya was put on his feet and they formed a tight circle around him.

"Where's Napoleon Solo." A thrush agent stared down at him.

He was still holding the communicator and another agent pulled it out of his hand.

The agent in front of him tipped his chin so that Illya was looking directly up at him.

"I asked you a question Kuryakin, where is Mr Solo?"

In answer Illya stamped on his shin. He growled in pain and Illya made a run for it. He didn't even make it to the end of the lane before he was once again surrounded. The agent limped his way into the circle. In a fit of temper he took hold of Illya by the scruff of the neck. The boy stared back at him trying to look defiant even as he trembled.

"I'll teach you, ye little brat,"

Unbuckling his belt and pulling it through the loops of his pants the Thrush agent brought Illya to a low wall. He sat down and pulled the struggling boy face down over his lap.

"I'll teach you a lesson you'll never forget ye little maggot," he growled as he brought the belt lashing down on the boys behind. Illya bit his lip trying hard not to cry out. The other Thrush agents laughed and cheered.

The second lash brought tears to his eyes but still he managed not to scream.

"What is going on here?"

The Thrush agents all turned. They slowly raised their hands as several man stood with guns trained on them.

An old man with a tweed hat stood in the centre. He beckoned to Illya.

Illya stood for a moment unsure what to do. A few tears escaped and tracked their way down his grubby cheeks.

"Have no fear, come here boy," the old man beckoned gently.

Illya went to him and the old man crouched down to look at him.

"Most remarkable," he commented. "What is your name?"

"Illya Kuryakin," the boy recited slowly having some trouble with pronunciation.

Waverly took a handkerchief from his top pocket and dabbed at Illya's eyes.

"Come now, it's nothing to a hardened soldier like you Mr Kuryakin." He smiled.

Illya nodded with a sniff, trying hard to pull himself together.

All around him Thrush agents were being rounded up. The Thrush agent who had used his belt on Illya suddenly landed sprawled on the ground in front of him. Mr Waverly pulled the boy aside.

"You really must be more careful." Waverly told his men with a barely perceptible smile.

"Yes sir," they nodded to him politely as they pulled the man roughly to his feet and pushed him off in the direction of their van.

Illya soon felt happy enough to trust these men and took the old man by the hand to show him the shed where Napoleon was laid out.

"Slow down Mr Kuryakin," Mr. Waverly grumbled as the boy dragged out of him.

"But he's here and he's hurt and he's not awake and he's cold." Illya blurted out as he carried on.

He gave up on the old man and ran excitedly into the shed himself. He was dying to tell the man that Mr. Waverly had come and now they were rescued but he stopped short with a frown.

"Are you sure it was this shed?" One of the uncle agents asked him.

Before he could answer another agent answered for him.

"Yeah he was here alright," he nodded as he touched the small blood stain spreading on a sack of fire wood.

"Looks like Thrush got here first."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Gale Davenport wrung her hands together as she waited. The communication had been brief. They had found the boy and were looking for Mr Solo. They didn't need to find Mr Solo, what were they doing. Hang Mr Solo. She grumbled under her breath as she paced the large sitting room. Time wasting more time wasting.

As long as they found the boy, as long as they had found Illya. She wouldn't be at ease until he was brought in until she was looking him in the face. Every other person they tried to rejuvenate had died from sepsis or shock. They had to have done something different with Kuryakin but those idiots she had hired for this project couldn't fathom what. She sat at the edge of the couch and nervously lit a cigarette pressing it between her sticky lips. Manfred Crowe entered and she stood expectantly.

"They have found him," he told her.

She let out a breath of relief.

"Thank God."

But her face paled in horror as Thrush agents marched in and threw a crumpled body on the floor at her feet.

"What is this," she cried, looking from one to the other.

The Thrush agents glanced nervously at each other until one of them opened his mouth to speak.

"Ma'am, We were, I mean..."

"Idiots," she shrieked. "Lazy, half brained idiots. You lose our test subject and you bring back a worthless uncle agent."

Manfred Crowe stepped forward wincing at her shrill tone.

"We can use the rejuvenation method on Mr Solo, all is not lost," he said.

In a fit of pure temper she lashed out and kicked Solo as he lay on the marble floor. He gave out a weak grunt in protest and squirmed slightly on the floor.

"To what end," she wailed. "He'll only die like all the others. Haven't you been listening Mr Kuryakin was the only test subject to survive the procedure."

"Get a hold of yourself woman. Perhaps there's something in the water at UNCLE headquarters allows these gentlemen a little more rope than the rest of us. Besides what could it hurt, we were planning on killing him anyway."

"Of course you're right,"

She snapped her fingers to gain the assistance of the two nearest Thrush agents.

"Bring our guest to Dr Sloper. Tell him to patch Mr Solo up, tell him I will be along shortly to explain everything."

Napoleon's head slumped forward as he was hauled upwards and dragged between two agents.

~0~

Mr Waverly frowned sternly at the young man standing in front of him.

"No, no, it does not tie in with our schedule. We cannot devote any more time to this. We must leave Ireland on the next available flight."

Slate kept a tight hold of Illya's hand as he moved around Mr Waverly's desk.

"But sir, Mr Kuryakin won't survive and Mr Solo is in grave danger. We must act. They both have devoted their lives to this agency. It simply does not feel right to just abandon them."

"You are relatively new to this organisation Mr Slate so you can be forgiven for not having a thorough understanding of our policies. As it stands Mr Kuryakin is to be flown with a female chaperone to our medical facility in London and Mr Solo well, in all likelihood he will not come back from this one, but that is what he signed up for. He knew the risks coming into this as do the rest of us, as do you Mr Slate. All agents are expendable in the fight against terrorism."

"With respect sir I cannot resign myself to that. I must act."

"Mr Slate if you take alternative action you may find your position here compromised. We have been called away to other matters. that is an end to it."

"That is a not how I view it sir."

Illya looked from one to the other with big eyes. He had no idea what they were talking about. Slate put a hand to his shoulder and began leading him out of the office.

Waverly leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily. After a moment he picked up the phone and dialled a number.

After a moment a familiar voice answered and Mr Waverly smiled with fondness.

"Pickering is that you?..."

"Alexander Waverly here, how are you old man..."

"Good, good, glad to hear it. Old boy I'm just beside you here, we're camped out in Ireland, damnable place how ever do you stand this weather..."

"Well you'd need more than that, I'd be wearing a sheepskin suit if I had to spend any time here..."

"You always could read me like a pet fox, Yes old boy, I need a favour...

Oh no nothing like that, just a back up team...you know on the QT, no need to tell top brass. What say you old boy, for old times sake?"

~o~

Mr Slate soon found his partner April conversing with girls from the communications department. The three were standing by the coffee machine laughing together as he walked up.

Before he could speak one of the girls stepped forward.

"Mr Slate, you've been dragging that poor child all over the building today. What say I take him to the canteen and get him some supper?" she smiled.

"That won't be necessary..." he began to say but April took Illya by the other hand and prized him away from Slate.

"Mark, he's a growing boy." She told him gently. April nodded to the other girls and they took the boy off down the hall. Illya looked back with frightened eyes as the girls began an eager round of chatter with each other and began cooing over him.

Slate rounded on his partner.

"April, we need to find Mr Solo and we need to bring Kuryakin with us. That clinic in London is bullshit. All they'll do is keep him comfortable until he passes away. Waverly won't help us as his orders are for us all to return to New York. We're on our own and all you can do is stand there giggling with a bunch of girls."

"Those bunch of girls, as you call them have secured an unmarked car for us. Once they learnt that Napoleon Solo was in danger they broke rules and signed out a car for us from stores."

Slate cocked his head curiously. "I thought Solo was considered a rat amongst the ladies."

"He is, a big unthinking, heartless rat. But he's OUR unthinking, heartless rat. The girls were delighted when they heard you were planning a covert mission."

To this Slate only nodded.

"We must leave immediately, where's Kuryakin?"

"He's down the hall eating a cheese burger and fries."

"We haven't time for this."

April frowned. "Slate, I'm not sharing a car with a hungry, cranky child. Not for anyone."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Napoleon woke with a start when he realised someone was sitting close to him. His head turned warily and his eyes met with hers. She put a finger to her lips urging him to silence.

He stared back at her soberly, not amused by this intrusion.

"I came to see how you're doing," Gale told him, fixing him with a smile that looked like it belonged to a heroine in a war time comic strip.

"You came all this way to see how I'm doing I'm flattered forgive me if I don't get up," Napoleon told her without feeling

Her smile turned to a simpering pout. She was trying hard; Napoleon wondered what she was after. Lying on a hospital trolley with straps holding him down, Napoleon was a captive audience.

Gale Davenport noticed his discomfort.

"You will no doubt be feeling the effects of the anesthetic Dr Sloper gave you. He has spent the evening patching up your insides, quite a mess by all accounts."

"Yes. You are handy with a knife I'll give you that."

She balked at the comment as if she had forgotten it was she who had inflicted the knife wound.

"You would have killed me, I had to defend myself."

"No and no." Napoleon told her.

"I put you out of the way. There was no reason to act out like that besides I have no wish to spend my last hours on this planet arguing with a Thrush agent."

"Yes your last hours. They are planning on using the rejuvenation method on you. I'll just warn you it probably will not work. Three Thrush volunteers have died already."

"I'll say goodbye now then," Napoleon told her simply.

"You don't have to die like all the others. The process only seemed to work on Kuryakin. We need him back, if you were to somehow use your influence to..."

"You're very taken with Mr Kuryakin aren't you," Napoleon interrupted her.

"What…what do you mean? No I've….Mr Solo, you are obviously still feeling the effects of the anesthetic."

But Napoleon went on.

"Of all the agents guarding the Maharaja that night Illya was the only one taken by Thrush, your unit of Thrush."

"What are you saying?"

"Quite simply, you want Illya Kuryakin. You've wanted him for some time and you don't care what form he takes."

Her pretty full lips turned in slightly and her eyes darkened with menace.

"I could kill you right here," she snarled through clenched, white teeth. She raised her hand and Napoleon eyed the perfectly sharp blade between her fingers. He turned his wrists in the stitched leather straps knowing that there was no escape for him. She may not kill him but she would cut him, he could see that in her eyes.

"I have tried to help you, tried to give you an out but maybe it is just your time Mr Solo. Maybe this really is goodbye."

She looked to her left and lowered her hand quickly as heavy footsteps approached. Napoleon lying flat on the trolley could not see him until Manfred Crowe was above him.

Napoleon watched with wary eyes as Crowe took a small bottle and pierced it with a syringe.

"What's in it?" he asked with urgency as the syringe was put to his arm.

Manfred Crowe didn't answer, he quickly found a vein and plunge the liquid into Napoleon's arm.

The agent ceased struggling almost immediately and his eyes rolled up in his head.

"A strong dose," Davenport nodded with a smile.

Manfred Crowe did not return her smile.

"What time shall we begin the rejuvenation process on Mr Solo?" she asked nervously.

"So he can die like the others?" Crown muttered.

"He may not die," she said.

But Crowe just looked at her and tried to contain his growing rage.

"Years, years I have devoted to this work, first with your father and then you. I've worked tirelessly to find sponsors and used up most of my own fortune but I cared not because I knew we were embarking on a new chapter in medical science."

With a look of eagerness she stepped forward.

"We are embarking on a new chapter of…."

"You killed the other test subjects," he roared.

She froze.

"You killed the other test subjects simply because you wanted us to hunt down Kuryakin and bring him back."

She put her two hands together and tried to word a response.

"He was the only….he was the best…."

"You wanted him. Solo was right. You wanted him in any form you sick, sick woman."

"It's not true. Manfred all I care about is my fathers work."

"You had little time for your father or his work that is until you learnt of our plan to test it on Uncle Agents. The rejuvenation process will be tested on Mr Solo later today and you will have no part in it. We don't want Mr Solo to pass away like all the others."

She gasped as two Thrush agents entered the lab, one holding a set of metal cuffs for her wrists.

~o~

At four years of age he was still quite heavy. April struggled to hand him up to her partner. Slate caught hold of his jacket and pulled the child up on to the high wall.

"No, don't look down," he told Illya gently. He smiled down at the little face. In his black jacket and fur hat Illya looked a little like an extra in a Dr Zhivago movie.

April climbed up behind them. "Just a high wall, are we missing something in the security Mark?" she asked.

"I think they're expecting us. We have no cure for Kuryakin's condition outside of these walls. I think they knew we'd be back."

"If they knew we'd be coming then why have we obliged them? That doesn't seem smart."

Slate shrugged.

"We have no cure for Kuryakin's condition outside of these walls. We have little choice."

Illya looked from one to the other as they spoke. He wore a frown like a little old man which made Slate laugh and tweak his nose. He had gone into this determined to give Illya Kuryakin the dignity and respect he deserves but it was becoming harder not to ruffle his mop of blond curls.

~0~

Napoleon Solo had little time to recoup after his surgery. As soon as ever he was properly awake three armed henchmen arrived at his bedside with a suit of clothes for him.

"Are we dressing for dinner?" he asked.

"Mr Crowe has ordered that you be dressed for the procedure."

"I have an aversion to night attire," Manfred Crowe said as he entered the room.

Napoleon grimaced as he was roughly hauled into a sitting position.

"People in pajamas make the place look untidy." Crowe continued as the cotton shirt was pulled off over his head.

"I can dress myself thank you." Napoleon told them curtly. "And I don't need an audience."

"As you wish Mr Solo you have five minutes. We will leave you now."

The guards filed out followed by Crowe. Once he was alone Napoleon eased himself off the steel bed. He winced in pain as he tried to straighten up. The gash in his right flank had been stitched tight and spiked with pain every time he moved. He reached over and tentatively picked up the white shirt. He wasn't into doing what he was told but did like the idea of being fully dressed for whatever lay ahead.

-o-

Slate handed the child over to Dancer and moved forward to have a closer look. He put himself flat against the alcove wall disappearing into the shadows as he listened. It was definitely Mr Solo's voice he could hear through the stone wall. Minutes later a tall suave Thrush agent exited the cell followed by lesser beings who fell in step behind him. Slate pushed hard against the wall so as not to be seen. Once he was sure they were long gone he came out from his hiding place and went to the locked door.

April appeared by his side carrying Illya.

"Get back," he told her.

She crouched in a corner and shielded the child's face as Slate fixed the doors workings with explosives.

"Mr Solo, get away from the door, do you understand me get away from the door."

Slate yelled out these instructions clearly as he lit the fuse.

He ran to crouch with Dancer just as the door lurched forward in the explosion and landed on it's side.

As they got back up Napoleon came out to join them. He addressed his comments to Slate.

"Yes I could hear you but if you were listening you would have heard me say, don't explode the door, they are planning on taking me to the rejuvenation could have had the element of surprise on our side. As it is..."

April frowned in indignation.

"Of all the ungrateful, mean spirited. Mr Solo I have heard of your arrogance but..."

Slate put a hand to her shoulder and tried to placate her.

"Don't shush me Slate, I don't care how senior he is, he could do with being a little more grateful."

As weak as he was Napoleon reached over and took Illya in his arms, April's comments died in her throat as she saw the look of worry on the older man's face as he gazed at the child.

"We won't catch many villains like this will we Toverich," he tried to smile. Illya reached down and his tiny fingers found a button on Napoleon's shirt.

April noted that Napoleon's face was beginning to lose color.

"Give him here. You can barely hold yourself up. I'll take him."

With a nod of thanks Napoleon handed him back to her.

"We need to find the rejuvenation equipment and hope we can somehow reverse the process." Napoleon told them.

"You don't sound very hopeful." April frowned up at him.

"No...Thrush wouldn't be too worried about permanently changing the life of a single person, sometimes they sacrifice their own people to experiments. It's not something that keeps them up at night."

They were about to move off when a voice called out in the dark. "I know where the rejuvenation machine is kept, I can take you to it."

Napoleon put a hand to his injured side and walked slowly to the disjointed voice. He took a pen torch from Slate and shone it in through the tiny window. Gale Davenport stared back at him.

"Well, well if it isn't the caged witch. What do you want?"

"I can take you to the rejuvenation project site. I can show you where it is."

"Well that's awfully kind of you, but I think we'll pass," Napoleon told her, trying to sound composed even as pain burned through him.

"You won't make it Mr Solo your wound has brought infection I can see it on you."

Napoleon tried to straighten up but could do nothing about the beads of sweat glistening on his face.

She went on " You need me Mr Solo. Give me safe passage through this building and I will lead you directly to the machine, we can help each other."

Napoleon had to think a minute. Slate stepped forward.

"We're trusting her? We're trusting this vile cat? We can't, don't you see. We can't trust this woman. I've seen her handy work, I've seen her team brutally destroy people. They torture, they maim. To trust this woman is to..."

"Mr Slate," Napoleon sternly called him to attention.

Slate immediately ceased his emotional rant.

" Do we have back up from headquarters?"

Slate shook his head. "No sir, it's me April and Mr Kuryakin. This is an unauthorized rescue."

With a heavy sigh Napoleon looked to Illya. Strangely the child was staring back at him as if he too was considering the options.

"Blow the door Slate, if she starts on us we'll kill her."

"I won't start anything I've had enough of Thrush and..."

As she exited the cell Napoleon caught her roughly by the arm.

"First rule, you speak when you're spoken to,"


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Of course taking Gale Davenport along was risky to say the least but they needed to find the devise and help Illya while he was still with them. As it was April was now carrying him on her hip and the whiff in the air around them spoke of an unscheduled bathroom break.

Slate stalled her with a hand to her arm and he whispered something in her ear.

"No I didn't think to bring diapers. Just because I'm a woman you naturally assume..."

"Can we have this argument later, Illya will just have to go with it for now, besides he has smelt worse haven't you." Napoleon smiled as he ruffled the child's hair. The child responded by smearing something sticky on his shirt.

Gale Davenport immediately spoke up. "There is an executive washroom, it's exclusively for top brass but we could bring him up there and give him a bit of a freshen up. It has small linen towels we could use as a diaper."

With a smooth smile she looked to April.

"We could go. I'll help you."

Napoleon immediately stepped in.

"You're not taking him anywhere, just remember who is holding the gun and do as you're told."

She just shot him a look but it was abject amusement that danced in her dark doll like eyes.

They managed to exit the prison wing without incident in fact the place seemed eerily deserted.

After climbing an antique wooden staircase and coming out through a large door they found themselves standing in a long corridor with a high arched ceiling and many paneled doors lining each side. Napoleon looked down the length of this dark hall, it looked to be an older part of the building judging by the chipped paint work and old fixtures.

"This is wrong." Slate whispered. His voice carried in the air.

April tried to placate Illya as he began to whimper.

Napoleon looked to Davenport and again wondered why he was trusting her.

"It's down here, follow me," She said without making eye contact.

The others went to follow but Napoleon raised a hand to stall them.

After a moment she turned to face them.

"You could see how it was, I was held captive. You could clearly see how I was treated. I care about the science. I care about discovering new truths. Thrush funded the work that has been my father's obsession ever since I can remember. That was our only allegiance with this group. I bitterly regret having stabbed you. I honestly did it thinking you were going to attack me.

Just as he was about to answer the door behind Napoleon began to splinter and tiny chips of wood flew off as gun shots rang out. They all frantically ducked down as a detail of Thrush agents came into view at the end of the corridor. Gunshots erupted all around them and Napoleon began shooting back. A muffled whimper behind him made Napoleon look back and his eyes widened as he saw Gale Davenport wrestle Illya away from April. He got up to intervene just as a bullet exploded across his left arm. He clenched his teeth and gripped the wound as blood began pouring through his fingers. Slate looked over.

"I'm alright, keep shooting. Cover me." Napoleon scrambled back up and staggered after Gale as she took off with Illya in her arms. He kept to the sides going from doorway to doorway but April and Mark seemed to be doing an excellent job of keeping the shooters at bay.

He saw the door close gently and he staggered towards it. He had one bullet in his gun, just one. At this point he would have no compunction about taking her down. Slowly he opened the door and walked in. Immediately he saw Illya. He was just left on a table. Lying flat, he was struggling to turn himself over or get back up. The two year old was becoming more distressed and as flat as he was he was practically choking on his own tears. Napoleon immediately went to him but didn't get that far. She put a hand to his color as he felt the barrel of a gun at his temple. Napoleon had no choice but to drop his weapon.

"I didn't mean to stab you." She whispered "but it was the only way I could get close to him."

Napoleon didn't speak. He continued to watch Illya's distress wanting nothing more than to pick him up.

She moved closer to him and ran a perfectly painted nail down his rough cheek.

"He's all I've ever wanted Napoleon. That time they captured him I watched through the monitor as he was being tortured. He was so composed, so brave through it all. I fell in love with him then. That was ten years ago. He was so young then but I never forgot that defiant face. They beat him savagely and yet he gave them nothing. "

"You're a sick woman Miss Davenport."

"Why, because I fell in love. Have you never been in love Mr. Solo?"

"I never fell in love with someone as they were being tortured."

"You weren't there, you didn't see."

Napoleon didn't answer. It occurred to him that he was wasting time reasoning with a mad woman. He walked ahead of her and picked up the child. Illya's wet face nestled into his shoulder and the child began to calm a little.

"Put him down, I didn't say you could pick him up. He's mine."

Napoleon did put him down. Not because she told him to but because blood was running freely down his arm from the gunshot wound and he was starting to get weak. He turned the child on his side and stroked his blond hair.

"What….do you intend to do with us." He asked through labored breaths.

"I don't know. I just took him and ran I had no plan. I am not a devious woman Mr Solo but when I love it is with all my heart."

Napoleon ignored the nonsense and tried to talk sense to her. He was losing too much blood.

"Illya will not survive." he told her. "He needs intervention. Can you reverse the process?"

"I don't..."

They both fell to the ground, their ears ringing still from the massive explosion. Napoleon got back up and immediately pulled Illya from the table just as panels came down from the ceiling. He staggered towards the door cradling the child in his arms but he went down heavily as she grabbed hold of his leg.

"You can't take him. Please Napoleon," She wailed keeping hold of his leg.

Napoleon looked back into her deranged eyes.

"Let go." he told her.

"Napoleon please, I'll die here, take me with you."

He reached over and smacked her in the face. It wasn't a severe smack but it stunned her enough that she let go.

He scrambled up and staggered towards the door. Outside the place was filling with smoke. He shielded Illya's face as he stumbled along. All around him people ran in every direction trying to escape the smoke and the heat.

As a waft of smoke suddenly cleared Manfred Crowe stood staring back at him. He had been heading towards the exit but the sight of the agent brought a small smile to his face.

"Mr Kuryakin's transformation is unprecedented. You must at least admire our handy work Mr Solo." he smiled.

Never taking his eyes off Crowe Napoleon backed up and using his clothes he dropped Illya gently to the floor.

"You're a mess Mr Solo, I have no wish to fight you. Leave Kuryakin and just walk away. You owe him nothing."

Napoleon gave a slight nod and breathed a sigh of resignation. Crowe wasn't ready for it when the agent suddenly barreled into him and knocked him off his feet. Crowe recovered quickly and as they got back up he landed Solo a blow to the stomach and followed with a smack to the jaw that sent him flying backwards. Napoleon's strength was all but gone but he stumbled back to his feet. Crowe took hold of the collar of his jacket and held Solo against the wall as he smacked him continuously across the face. He laughed lightly as Napoleon shook his head as he was starting to become dazed from the onslaught.

A fresh waft of smoke filled the confined space and they both looked down as Illya took a fit of coughing.

In that split second Napoleon took the advantage. He came out fighting smacking Manfred Crowe with all the strength he had left. One blow followed another and another and finally Crowes legs went from under him and he crumpled to the ground in a dazed bloody heap.

Napoleon staggered back towards the wall. Illya looked up at him with a trace of fear in his eyes. Napoleon found that he couldn't bend to pick the child up. He was in too much pain. He reached down and hauled Illya up by his clothes.

"I'm sorry." he said as Illya began to whimper. "I know my friend I'm sorry."

He stood for a moment with the child in his arms rubbing his back as the child continued to cry softly.

Napoleon could go no further. He was trying to find an exit but the smoke was too dense his lungs were filling with toxic fumes and his right arm was caked in a river of blood from the gunshot wound. He made it to the end of the corridor and slid down the wall. As his eyes began to close he pulled his jacket up over Illya to shield the child from the heat.

~o~

When Slate finally came to, he pulled April to her feet. The explosion had knocked them both to the ground. They had been fighting a losing battle with Thrush when help had finally arrived. A mass of shooting behind them scattered the Thrush agents. Slate and Dancer rushed forward to help in the roundup of Thrush agents when the explosion knocked everyone off their feet.

"They're exploding the device so that we won't get access to it, come on." Slate took hold of her hand and began to run through the smoke.

He made it to the end of the corridor and froze in his tracks. April stopped too and looked down at the smut covered form of Napoleon Solo. Slate crouched and put a hand to his neck.

After a moment he let out a breath.

"He's alive." he told her. "But probably not for long if we don't get him out of this furnace."

Slate moved back startled as something began to move under Solo's jacket.

With a tentative hand Slate pulled back his coat.

They both laughed in relief as a little face peered up at them with a familiar look of disapproval.

"Let's get you out of there Mr Kuryakin." Slate smiled as he lifted the child.

Napoleon came awake in a haze of confusion and held on to the child with all strength until another Uncle agent came to help and the two were gently separated. Illya was unhurt and held hands out when he saw April. Napoleon on the other hand was put to the ground and turned on his side as he faded out again. Someone found oxygen and put a mask over his face.

~o~

The first realization was the silence. It felt as though he had woken from a bad dream. Napoleon looked above him, this wasn't a hospital unless it was a very old one. The only window had very large shutters on each side and the high ceiling was adorned with elaborate, unnecessary decorative swirls the like you'd see in old estate houses. He looked down and realized he was lying on a bed dressed in a smut covered suit. He had a dressing on his forehead and his right arm was dressed n a clean white sling. A door to his left suddenly opened, the sound made him jump.

"Only me. Try to relax Mr Solo. You've got quite a bump on your head."

Napoleon was relieved. He recognized her as the young agent working with Mr Slate.

"What happened." his voice came out sounding hoarse from all the smoke. April immediately poured him a glass of water.

"Here, drink this. Don't take too much."

Napoleon took a small sip.

April began to tell him everything.

"The powers that be in Thrush central ordered that the rejuvenation equipment be disposed of once they learned that the base was under attack. Thankfully the explosives went off prematurely and the main machine was spared. Our technical team are trying to work with the lab technicians hired by Thrush to reactivate the device.

"Where's Illya."

"He's there. They are putting him through the process once more and trying to reverse the cycle"

Napoleon looked up at her.

"I'm not a scientist, I don't know what they're doing. All I know is that they are trying to help Illya and it's not working..."

April turned from him and walked quickly towards the door.

~o~

Mr Waverly looked up as Napoleon approached. He could not help but frown at the young man's appearance.

"Mr Solo, you really should be in bed. You are in no fit state to be up and about. I have made the call to have you transported to our clinic."

"How is he sir." Napoleon looked through the small window encased within the large machine. He could see a small form lying very still.

"He's not doing well Mr Solo" Mr Waverly muttered sounding very tired. "The lab technicians have stalled the process in the hope that he can gain some strength."

"Can they be trusted sir?"

Mr Waverly answered with a slight nod.

"They have been extremely helpful once they learned that they no longer have to answer to Thrush. Turns out the majority of lab personnel here were taken on under duress. Threats to their family, blackmail, that sort of thing. They have been extremely helpful in Mr Kuryakin's care. But it looks to be a hopeless cause. They can't seem to get him past the age of ten. I've been watching the pain staking process I can't think what else can be done for the chap. Any further intervention renders him weaker."

"Sir, why don't you get some rest. I'll keep an eye on things here and let you know if there is any change."

Mr Waverly was silent for a moment.

"Yes Mr Solo, perhaps a cup of coffee. It's about that time."

Mr Waverly got stiffly to his feet.

He graced Napoleon with an awkward pat to the shoulder.

"Sit down there, you really should be in bed you know,"

Napoleon sat heavily as he was taken by a sudden dizzy spell. Mr Waverly looked back at him.

"Don't stay there too long Mr Solo, you are under medical supervision too. You have a nasty infection in that stab wound she gave you."

"Did they find her sir?"

"Yes they were all rounded up. We had to confine her to an isolated cell. She's as mad as a brush poor girl."

Mr Waverly's words petered out, Napoleon was no longer listening. He was sitting forward with his hand on the little glass panel just willing his friend to get better. Mr Waverly turned and walked away leaving the two friends alone.

Through the smoky glass panel he could see clearly the small angelic face of his friend but Illya looked very pale and still.

"You have to try Illya, I'm always saying it. You expect everyone else to...I can't fix this..." Napoleon swiped quickly at the trail of moisture running down his cheek.

"Please Illya, try."

A lab technician stopped what she was doing for a moment and watched. She wanted to go to him. Instead she placed a call.

"It can't end like this after all we've been through." Napoleon muttered. He fixed his eyes on the glass panel willing himself to stay awake, willing himself to stay upright. It seemed funny to him that he felt chills up his back as perspiration soaked through his clothes.

The room seemed to suddenly fill with people all talking at once. He could feel hands pick him from the floor and place him... somewhere. He watched as lights moved above his head or was he moving. Lights, wires, something was placed over his face, would they ever just let him alone. Where's Illya. His free hand was gently restrained as he struggled against them. In the dim light he watched as a man in a white coat bent over him. He could feel the slight sting in his arm before the world began to slowly fade out.

~o~

He was chasing through a storm of hot acid rain. The rain lit fires all around him, scorched his clothes. It was so hot.

They had Illya, he must follow. He would never see him again if he did not follow. The rain was so hot, it brought with it pain. He must follow. They have Illya. Hands were restraining now, something put to his lips, a voice in the darkness. He must find Illya.

Everything was suddenly quiet. He looked up with unfocused eyes, in the dim light he could just make out a white curtain, a bag of saline hanging from a stand and someone sitting close by. He was bent over resting his tousled blond head in his hand.

"Illya!" he whispered.

The Russian agent immediately came awake.

"Napoleon,"

Illya jumped up and went to call a nurse in but Napoleon stalled him with a hand to his wrist.

"Please Illya, don't go."

"Napoleon, I must get the nurse I must call someone."

"Illya...you're grown again," he said. His voice sounded thick to his own ears.

Illya poured a glass of fresh water and put it to his lips.

"Don't talk my friend, drink."

Napoleon took a sip and tried again.

"You're a man again, the process worked."

"Take it easy Napoleon, That was quite a stab wound you took."

"Illya, you don't remember. You were a child. They had transformed you back into a child. We were in Thrush's facility in Ireland."

"In Ireland?" Illya looked at him with a slight spark of amusement in his eyes.

"Illya, the one where they torture people. They carry out experiments."

"Ok you win. We won't go hill walking in Ireland this summer, we'll go to Italy again." Illya said with a grin

Napoleon nodded. Reality was starting to seep into his psyche once more and it felt good.

"Napoleon the Maharaja got safely back to his own country. Despite Thrush's best efforts."

"The Maharaja." Napoleon repeated to himself.

"You remember Napoleon, we were protecting him as he boarded for his flight home."

Napoleon nodded, it was coming back to him now.

"I was on the runway just at the steps. I was stabbed...twice."

"Actually three times. She went on a bit of a mad frenzy. It took three of us to subdue her."

Napoleon nodded. "Yes, Gale Davenport."

"How did you get her name Napoleon. Do you know her?"

"No Illya. She told me. She wanted me to know who it was that ended my life."

"But I don't understand, why you. She must have quite a grudge. She went at you like a savage,"

Napoleon remembered again her haunted expression, her words.

"I'm sorry, it's the only way I could get close to him."

He looked over at his friend, Illya looked so tired.

"When I get out of here Illya I'm going to treat you to a cold beer and a fine steak dinner."

Illya smiled. "At this point I'd settle for a milkshake and a hot dog my friend."

The End


End file.
